ople with initials, who write in the religious
papers, to rail at him, these shepherds who live on five thousand a year
and pretend to follow One who hadn't a home or a second coat, and whose
friends were harlots and sinners, though he was no sinner himself--it's
infamous, it's atrocious, it raises my gorge against their dead creeds
and paralytic churches. Whatever his faults, he is built on a large plan,
he has the Christ idea, and he is a man and a gentleman, and I'm ashamed
that I took advantage of him. That's all over now, and there's no help
for it; but if I might hope that you will forgive--and forget----"

"Yes," said Glory in a low voice, and then there was silence, and when
she lifted her head Drake was gone and Rosa was wiping her eyes.

"It was all for love of you, Glory. A woman can't hate a man when he does
wrong for love of herself."

John Storm came in later the same day, when Rosa had gone out and Glory
was alone. He was a different man entirely. His face looked round and his
dark eyes sparkled. The clouds of his soul seemed to have drifted away,
and he was boiling over with enthusiasm. He laughed constantly, and there
was something almost depressing in the lumbering attempts at humour of
the serious man.

"What do you think has happened? The Bishop sent for me and offered me a
living in Westminster. It turns out to being the gift of Lord Robert Ure;
but no thanks to him for it. Lady Robert was at the bottom of everything.
She had called on the Bishop. He remembered me at the Brotherhood, and
told me all about it. St. Jude's, Brown's Square, on the edge of the
worst quarter in Christendom! It seems the Archdeacon expected it for
Golightly, his son-in-law. The Reverend Joshua called on me this morning
and tried to bully me, but I soon bundled him off to Botany Bay. Said the
living had been promised to him--a lie, of course. I soon found that
out. A lie is well named, you know--it hasn't a leg--to stand upon. Ha,
ha, ha!"

Nothing would serve but that they should go to look at the scene of their
future life, and with Don--he had brought his dog; it had to be held back
from the pug under the table--they set off immediately. It was Saturday
night, and as they dipped down into the slums that lie under the shadow
of the Abbey, Old Pye Street, Peter's Street, and Duck Lane were aflare
with the coarse lights of open naphtha lamps, and all but impassable with
costers' barrows. There were the husky voices of t